


Hospital: The Other PoV

by asparagusmama



Series: Seasons AU - extras! [2]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Lewis (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asparagusmama/pseuds/asparagusmama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While 'undercover' as a nurse for the Doctor in the John Radcliffe, Oxford, May 2010 Rory's nursing vocation pulls to him to care for a victim of drug assisted rape and his boss, or is it his lover?</p><p>This is a reworking of Hospital, originally written from Lewis' pov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hospital: The Other PoV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babyklingon](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=babyklingon).



> 1/ To the Doctor Who reader, this is Rory's pov from a deleted chapter of 'Cold Summer' http://archiveofourown.org/works/198412/chapters/293343 called 'Hospital' http://archiveofourown.org/works/203347 which is part of a series of works http://archiveofourown.org/series/16074 in which two of the case fics are Doctor Who/Torchwood/UNIT crossovers.
> 
> 2/ To the Lewis reader, or at least those who have read the AU seasons 5&6 made up for babyklingon - yes, it was always Rory, from the first bedtime story telling :) Now written down in honour of our going to see Our Boys, Rory's departure and babyklingon's broken leg!
> 
> 3? To babyklingon - sorry love, I couldn't get Neville Longbottom in :( STOP WEIGHT BEARING ON THAT ANKLE!!!

The problem being under cover as a nurse when you were a nurse meant you just got involved. People were disappearing and reappearing as rather scarily controlled versions of themselves at the John Radcliffe Hospitals in Oxford. The Doctor suspected Zygons and put Amy to work as a receptionist in the Children’s Hospital in the daytime and Rory on 12 hour shifts in A&E and its side wards. On the fourth day Rory had his eye on Dr. Alice Crocker, senior manager on the obs ward. She was cold, unsympathetic and unapproachable. By the fifth day Rory realised she was just like that – and thought it her life long vocation to save the NHS money by punishing ‘malingers and those who have inflicted their injuries upon themselves’.

He had a dozen things to do whilst looking busy, Zygons to find - shape shifting blobby looking foetus things in purple and green and icky, apparently. He had their base to find. Their ship to locate. Imprisoned people held for their body imprint to rescue. Leave the regular nursing to the permanent staff but...

Well, he liked Dr Shakashi and when he got the call that the young CID officer was being send over for obs, well, there were other staff, and it was only a question of blood pressure and bloods and responses for a while following...

Rohypnol. Not injured or drugged in the line of duty. Crocker was on the prowl and she hated drug assisted rape victims. ‘Stupid, naive idiots’ she called them.

Rory had been many things, companion to a bonkers Time Lord, Roman soldier, and good citizen and son in one life, a life of Rome, and a loving son in this reality, a myth and legend, Guardian of the Box, the Last Centurion, Mr Pond, his almost life long ambition, apart from this one – nursing. Caring for the sick, the injured, the vulnerable. He didn’t want to leave this vulnerable young man to Crocker, nor did he want to leave her to either of the other nurses that night, an African Pentecostal with scary zeal and homophobic tendencies and a young Muslim girl – and stop him if he was making Islamophobic assumptions, also probably a tad homophobic.

Zygon shape-shifters and their kidnapped victims could wait, Rory had a rape victim to look after. The Doctor would understand – everyone was important to him, however insignificant the person or situation seemed to others. Rory had travelled with the Doctor long enough to know that.

“Hi, I’m Rory,” said Rory, meeting the very blond victim with porter and poor, exhausted Louise. With them was an older man with thinning dark hair greying at the temples wearing a rumbled tux with dried blood on the shirt front, bow tie hanging undone either side of the blood stains. By the state of the victim’s face, it must have been his blood. But who was he? Father? Lover? “Dr. Crocker sends her apologies, she’s busy with another patient,” he said briskly before he led them to a bay with four beds. The other patients were all asleep. It was a mixed ward, with an older man, an elderly woman and a teenage girl. The girl was on a saline drip, which made a ticking noise. Rory swiftly whisked the curtains around them and then he and Louise helped the patient, only dressed in a borrowed tee shirt from the rape suite from the looks of things, on to the bed. There was blood on the padded sheet, but not fresh, hours old, Rory noted. Good, bleeding, even if the artery was luckily untouched, could be a problem with anal rape victims.

“Do you prefer Mr. Hathaway or James?” Rory asked with false, professional brightness, “I’m a great one for first names, but whatever you want.”

The victim – the patient - just stared looking bewildered and befuddled.

“James, I think,” the older man said said.

“And you are?”

“DI Lewis,” said Louise. “He brought him over from rape suite. Mr. Hathaway is a detective sergeant.”

“It’s Robbie,” Robbie said, smiling at Rory. “I’m here as a friend, not his boss.”

“More than a friend,” Louise hissed at Rory, slamming the clipboard and file into his hand. Rory glanced at it, noting DI Lewis was down as next of kin. Lover then. Was that allowed by CID? Or was it a secret? None of his business. 

“Bye James. Inspector.” Louise said before she left, followed by the porter wheeling the empty trauma unit bed. The more Rory stared after the porter the more Rory became convinced he was a Zygon.

“First things first,” said Rory, focusing on the nursing task at hand, filing away the porter for the future – find his name and let the Doctor know. “I need to do your obs. Stay there.” He returned a few moments later and proceeded to take James’ blood pressure and pulse. He left the clip on James’ finger to monitor his pulse, which was a little fast and erratic, but nothing unexpected following the stress of the assault and the waking up in a field with no memory of the assault, to say nothing of the Flunitrazepam, amyl nitrates and Dr. Shakashi’s shot of morphine. Likewise the slightly low blood pressure, all explained by the drugs floating around poor James’ system. Rory wrote the blood pressure down on the chart. Rory felt Robbie peer over his shoulder. 

“Is it okay?” the inspector asked.

“Nothing to worry about,” Rory replied in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. “Now James, do you feel up to having a shower? Or a bath? Did they let you have one at rape suite?”

“There’s nothing I want more only my legs are so shaky and...” James burst into tears. Robbie looked uncomfortable and more than a little shocked at this. James did seem like a person to normally keep his feelings to himself. 

“I can help you, or give you a bed bath,” Rory continued calmly. “Let’s get those bastards washed off you.” Evil was everywhere and sometimes it was so mundane it went under the Doctor’s radar, but certain men were evil where ever and when ever Rory had been with the Doctor and sometimes – often – he found his nursing skills were of equal, if not more, use, than those other skills of the other Rory, as he called the Auton Roman memories. Sometimes they were even more important that the Doctor’s, whose bedside manner in victims of alien plagues or monsters could be a bit hit and miss.

Robbie, who was holding James again very tightly, stared at the Rory with a disapproving expression.

James nodded, obviously appreciating what Rory was doing for him even if his boyfriend didn’t. “Get me clean,” he slurred, still very much under the influence of the morphine. “Why did the other nurse...?” James trailed off, unsure what he was asking.

“She’s had a long day,” Rory replied briskly, thinking of poor Louise, pulling double shifts while worrying about her brother.

Robbie yawned. “So have I. And that was before I found you on my doorstep,” he added to James. Rory listened curiously. He couldn’t help it.

“Eh? What?” James mumbled.

Rory left them, using the excuse of taking the blood pressure monitor back – he didn’t need to really, he’d need it again in 30 minutes. He returned with an easy chair and a blanket, pushing Robbie into the chair and covering him with the blanket. Before he could fight it, Robbie Lewis fell deeply and soundlessly asleep. Rory looked at him and turned to James, “He looked like he was desperate for a sleep. He’s no spring chicken, is he, your boyfriend?”

James flushed pink under his purple and black bruises and livid red scratches. “He’s not my... it’s complicated. I’ve not ever really had a boyfriend. In fact I’ve never... not with anyone, until these...” he looked down, ashamed.

“That does not count,” Rory said firmly and became very matter of fact about what James could cope with in terms of washing. In the end he gave James a bath, so James, whose legs still shook with the amyl nitrates, could sit. Rory washed him, good at he was a putting all kinds of people at their ease in what could be a totally embarrassing situation. He just made it matter of fact.

James was too skinny and covered in far too many bruises. He also had the fairest, blondest hair Rory had seen on a human. He wore a gold crucifix that he refused to have removed, clutching at it as Rory rinsed him hair.

Dried and in a hospital gown Rory gave James a Valium shot and sat by him until he slipped into unconsciousness. It must be a gift, he supposed, caught from the Doctor. James had opened up to him like he doubted James had ever done before. Poor sod. Rory thought, once James was asleep. Robbie was still asleep, snoring soundly, in the chair beside James’ bed. Before he left them following the latest 30 minutes obs, which were beginning to become worrying, Rory sorted out a saline IV to attempt to raise James’ blood pressure, which was still falling. James was probably on something prescribed he’d not told Shakashi or the rape suite medic that was reacting with the Rohypnol.

By the time Rory had traced the porter and found the Doctor and Amy he found he had missed all the action. One of those fast talking persuasive times of the Doctor – all he had to do was get the TARDIS to reboot the Zygon’s ship parked up the side of Headington Hill Park and up they went into the Oxford dawn sky line and fast out of the atmosphere and then the solar system. Rory was sorry to have missed it, he still had the boyish wonder at a spaceship’s launch.

The Doctor wanted to go but Rory said he had a case to close. When he explained the Doctor understood. Amy was horrified at the victim and James’ injuries but more than a trifle aggressive in her jealousy of Rory’s description of the thin, tall, leggy, very blond patient. Rory didn’t mind – she who is not jealous is not in love, and to Rory’s endless amazement and gratitude, Amy was both. 

* 

Robbie Lewis awoke to the sound of James’ blood pressure being taken again. He looked at his watch. 11:30 am. How long had he been asleep? He hadn’t noticed the time when they had arrived on the ward.

Rory smiled down on him. “Good morning, Robbie. The doctor’s due on her rounds soon and a right tartar she is too. Maybe you could fetch James some clean clothes. Something loose and comfortable would be a good idea.”

“Sure.”

“And don’t leave him alone. If you don’t live together, take him home with you. Okay?”

“Is he okay?”

“His obs are fine, nearly normal. The bleeding has stopped. More than that?” Rory shrugged and left.

Robbie looked at James, sound asleep with the aid of morphine and valium, pulse monitor still clipped to his finger and now a saline solution drip plugged into a vein on the back of the same hand. He was out of the disgusting tee shirt and in a blue hospital gown. He’d obviously had a bath or shower. His hair was freshly washed, soft, fine blond curls still slightly damp, smelling of something fresh and fruity, not the usual smell of his hair. Dear God, had he honestly noticed what James smelt like? Yes, he had, obviously. The smudged mascara was gone. Robbie stared at the incredibly pale lashes wondering why it had never occurred to him that his sergeant – that his male sergeant! – had such long, dark eyelashes with such pale hair and skin. The bruises and cuts were viciously ugly, red, black and purple, stark and brutal on James’ face. He thought of all Laxton had told him, the bits she’d left unsaid, and thought he couldn’t bear it, what those bastards had done to his James.

His James? He was getting ahead of himself. At least he knew for certain his feelings were reciprocated, even if those returned feelings were buried in a mess of guilt, fear and trauma. And that was before last night.

That was his fault. He’d pushed James away, afraid himself too, afraid of admitting he could fancy another man, be in love with another man. Man? Boy. James was almost half his age and then young and naive for his! He wished Morse were alive, to talk this through. Or, irrationally, Val, who was so wise. But if he still had Val, he wouldn’t look at James.

Would he?

Maybe.

Terrifying thought.

Robbie ran his fingers gently through James’ damp curls and bent to kiss him, meaning to kiss him on the forehead, like his kids, but stopped himself. He remembered kissing another man on the forehead, here, at the John Radcliffe, a final, last goodbye kiss. Instead, he kissed James lightly on the mouth.

Sleeping beauty, thought Robbie, startled as James’ pale lashes fluttered open.

“Sir?" he said, puzzled, sleepily.

“James, I’m going to your flat to fetch you some clothes. I’ll be back soon. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” he sighed and rolled over on to his side, asleep again immediately.

Robbie stroked his hair one last time and kissed him again, on the temple. “I love you too,” he whispered into James’ ear. Drowsy and drugged, James didn’t hear. Or if he did, he didn’t comprehend.

*

Behind the curtain of the poor young girl who had overdosed the night before Rory smiled with satisfaction. A happy ending, maybe? He could leave Earth thinking James had got his prince at last.

**Author's Note:**

> Nice comments and constructive criticism always appreciated :)


End file.
